


L'hôpital - The Healer

by MyBeautifulDecay



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBeautifulDecay/pseuds/MyBeautifulDecay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As requested by @outlanderedandoverhere: The blue overdress worn on top of the peach gown, and the fact that J and C have met in the middle again, with J going to the hospital and seeing C work. But it breaks in the show timeline…as they get it on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'hôpital - The Healer

Somehow he’d lost her, he’d been knee deep in music codes with Madame Hildegarde and Claire had gone back to treating patients. He followed the swish of fabric through the corridors, sure he’d seen the telltale blue of her dress. Around the next corner he met with a closed door, the air stirred around him and he knew it had only just been closed. She had to be in there.

He knocked, as quietly as he was able and heard her muffled voice call out to him. He smiled as he pushed open the heavy wood peeking round to see her clinking medicine bottles together.

“Here ye are, Sassenach. I’ve been all over for ye!” She blushed as she placed down the wooden box holding the empty bottles.

“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me then?” She sounded so bashful, it amused him a little and he reached his hand out to her.

“I canna stay mad at ye for long, mo nighean donn. Can ye forgive me for being a grump?”

“Yes, Jamie. Of course.” She stepped around the table and into his arms, wrapping herself around him. He felt warm and safe once more. Arguing with him at been hell, they already had enough on their plates without biting at each other too.

“I’ve missed ye, Claire. When I saw ye in this wee blue dress, I had a time keeping my hands to myself. I ken this isna the right time, but I need ye.”

She smiled as she ran her hands over the pressed silk jacket he wore, she’d been desperate for him for months now. Who was she to deny him?

“I don’t care, Jamie.” She placed a kiss at the base of his neck, just above his collar bone as his fingers worked their way around the lacing at the back of her dress. She, in turn, undid the buttons of his waistcoat, running her hands over his covered chest as she went. “You have to take the blue silk off first, Jamie.”

He wound his fingers through the ties that held the top layer of her garment on and tugged. They came away fairly easily and she shrugged the material from her shoulders. He licked a line along her neck, a smile on his lips as he watched it pool at her feet. She was left in the peach under layer, the colour made the flush of her skin stand out.

“Ye look sae fair, stood their wi’ that pink in yer cheeks. It flows all the way down to yer bonnie breasts, my Sassenach.” He ran his finger down, as if to illustrate his point. “Turn around, let me undo yer laces.”

She did as she was bid, turning to face the intricately carved beam behind her. She leaned her forehead against the cool brick as he went about his business.

He took her hand, her back still facing him, and placed it over his crotch. She noticed that he didn’t drag it under his kilt, as he’d done before, but ran their hands, together, over the outside. The thick fabric only visually concealing him. She could feel him hard and wanting, his hips begging to thrust forward against her open palm.

She felt his breath halt at the back of her neck, his posture rigid behind her. He’d started this little dance, but he was still teetering dangerously on a knife edge between his need of her and the memories of his abuse. She had to tread carefully. She had to let him set the pace. She stilled her movements and waited.

“It’s fine, Jamie. Don’t worry. It’s only me, Claire.” She whispered. The high ceilings of the hospital capturing her low tones and echoing them around the deep nooks and crannies of the thick brick. “I won’t touch you unless you ask me too.”

He ran his hands over her wrists now, his tongue running patterns over the sensitive skin at the top of her neck. The vertebrae exposed there sending a pleasurable tingle down her spine as he moved from one shoulder blade to the other. It was a sort of delicious torture. But she no longer touched him. Her hands lay dormant by her sides.

“I want ye, Claire.” He stammered. Mirroring the words he’d said to her back at Leoch after their fateful trip with the rent party.

“Then have me, Jamie. I’m yours.” She turned, slowly, leaving her back to fall against the pillar. The grooves acted as a wee hollow for her to hide in.

“I need ye to touch me, so badly Claire. But I canna…ye canna. No’ under my kilt. I’m s-sorry…” His fists were clenched now, either side of her head. She could feel his anguish, a palpable tension in the small room in which they found themselves. If she didn’t act fast he’d back out, she could feel it.

“Then take it off, Jamie. Take it off and let me see you. I promised I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked, I meant it.” She reiterated, her voice low and calm. He shook with the force of his need, he was battling internally with himself. His demons forcing their way through. If she kept his head above ground she was sure he’d be alright.

His lips were pursed, his cheeks flushed red with want, but his shoulders were clenched tight in panic. She reached a shaky hand out towards him, slowly so he could see her every move. As her fingers skimmed his jaw his eyes met hers. Wide and blue and so innocent. She could see the fear swimming deep.

“Take off your kilt, Jamie. Talk to me. Don’t stop. We can do this.” He nodded, his mouth too dry. “Just don’t stop looking at me.”

When he’d first walked into L'hôpital she’d been surprised to see him back in his Fraser tartan. He hadn’t worn it since she’d rescued him from Wentworth. It was a massive step forward, progress. She couldn’t allow her actions to add more negative connotations. He hadn’t explicitly told her anything about his sudden need to wear breeks, but she’d guessed. Not just the literal reason, but the metaphorical one as well. He’d covered himself, made sure he was protected. Only this was material as armour. To see him so galant and proud, back in his kilt once more made her heart lighten. Now she had the chance to show him it could be a positive once more.

He watched her with fascination now, like he was seeing her for the first time. Gently his hands moved to his belt as he undid the buckle and let the heavy leather fall. She smiled, a small lifting of her lips as she nodded for him to continue. Her hands remained visible at all times, for which he was grateful. His fingers shook as he pulled the fabric away from his waist. She was already just in her shift, him having removed that beautiful blue and peach dress only moments before.

His mind swung in a million different directions as he clung to the plaid, unwilling for the moment to let it go. He hadn’t blinked for sometime but he knew if he closed his eyes for even a moment he’d be back there, back in that god forsaken cell. Back with him. His heart stuttered and stumbled as the sweat prickled on his brow.

“Jamie, I’m here. Look at me.” Came a voice in the dark. His ears rang as he brought himself back to the here and now, his eyes refocused and Claire came into view in full clarity. She nodded once more, her hands reaching out to push one thick curl to the side. He breathed out a shaky breath. “You’re alright, you’re safe.”

He kissed her then, long and hard. His eyes open the whole time, his hands finally letting go of his kilt so it fell to the floor with a small airy sound as it hit the tiles. Claire made a bold move then, she took his hand and placed his open palm over her breast. Begging him. Touch me, it said. He couldn’t help but obey, anchored to her he could keep himself with her if he noted and clung to those feminine details. The things he’d loved about her body before.

Her back arched off the supporting post, her legs opened and he stepped between them, sliding inside her with one swift movement that knocked the air out of them both. He gripped her breast firmly, massaging it beneath his palm as he rocked his hips softly against hers. The small sounds that fell from her lips spurred him on and he watched intently as she squirmed and writhed against him. She ached to put her hands on his arse, to pull him forward, but she raised them in surrender and leant them against the sold wall behind her.

He watched in fascination as she fought with herself. Her lids heavy, she could barely keep them open, but she did. Their eyes locked throughout the entire exchange as he pushed and pulled and thrust against her. His body acted of its own accord, reacting solely to Claire. She said very little, only moaned and squeaked as he twisted his pelvis. He wanted to take her with him, to feel her pleasure as he sought out his own. But he couldn’t wait, it had been too long and he was so close.

“Jamie. Come to me! It’s alright, let go…j-just let go…” She forced out, seeing his dilemma. The longer he pushed to carry her with him, the more likely he’d fumble or fall. She wanted him to orgasm now, whilst he was here with her.

His eyes clenched shut, he couldn’t help it, as he cried out. His legs trembled and his hand gripped painfully at her breast. She pulled him to her then, using her hands only to hold his head into the crook of her neck. She felt his tears land and slide down her collarbone. Running her hands slowly through his hair she hummed to him, allowing him to come back to himself as she felt the very essence of him slippery and thick between her legs.

She slid then, down the pillar to the floor. Taking him with her as she did so. His head fell lower, coming to rest in between her bosom as she continued to soothe him. He was panting heavily, his skin covered in gooseflesh. Claire reached her foot out and dragged the plaid from just in front of her. She unwrapped it and curled it around him cocooning him in warmth only that fabric could provide, showing him that his kilt was something to be treasured, something she could show him love with. They sat in silence for the longest time, just being with each other.

“Tha gaol agam ort, mo nighean donn.” He finally sighed against her skin, his hands holding her close.

“Tha gaol agam ort, Jamie.” She whispered back, in her stunted Gaelic. The sound of it carrying around the room. “I love you, so much.”


End file.
